


The last gift

by Lionessinthedark



Category: Patrick Melrose (TV)
Genre: Childhood Memories, Childhood Trauma, F/M, Fix-It
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-17
Updated: 2018-06-17
Packaged: 2019-05-24 11:47:22
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,612
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14954097
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lionessinthedark/pseuds/Lionessinthedark
Summary: I have just watched 'Patrick Melrose' and Benedict's amazing performance and I wanted to give Patrick a happier ending.I know that Edward St. Aubyn did manage, but I think he left Patrick with a somewhat open ending, and I wanted to fix that.I have no illusion about my own writing skills, that in no way can match St. Aubyn's. I am not English and English is not my first language and I am just an amateur.I just needed to give Patrick a better ending than in the books and in the series.





	1. Chapter 1

**Patrick Melrose**

 

The year 2028: An aged but still very handsome Patrick Melrose is sitting at a desk in a nice cosy room in their 'new' London flat. Apparently they are more wealthy than last time we saw him.

 

“Oh – there you are.” Patrick is looking at us with a smile.

 

He makes a gesture around in the room and towards a photo on his desk. There are 5 persons on that photo: Mary and their now grown-up sons and two young women.

 

“I am – we are - doing fine by now. Mary and I are going to be grandparents in a very short time and only with a few months apart. Our two sons married a year ago and my two daughter-in-laws are expecting. Lovely! And I am not being sarcastic here. It is lovely – and somehow I never expected to get that old – to be a grandfather. And my daughters-in-laws are two wonderful young and intelligent women. And both Robert and Thomas have good jobs and a better starting point than both Mary and I ever had...”

 

Patrick pauses, he is a bit emotional and then he says, “It is not my doing – and I still have demons to fight...”

 

He pauses again and takes a deep breath, “A way to fight them was to write my story down. What happened to me as a child. And it was not only the abuse, but even more so the neglect and the Arctic climate. The denial. That I screamed for help and no one heard me. The one, who came closest, was Anne, a friend.....well 'friend' in quotation marks, of my family. But even she didn't interfere, even if she had a suspicion about something being terribly wrong. And she disappeared out of my life at a point. So....my therapist told me to write it down. I had never imagined that anyone should read it and had never imagined that I would enjoy writing. But she was right, my therapist, writing it down, tell about the abuse and neglect, telling how inadequate and cruel my parents had been, it was a catharsis and another step towards healing. I had never imagined that my 5 books would be so popular and give me so much success. So that is what I am now. Not just a barrister, but a successful writer. People even contacted me and wanted me to write their stories as well. I told them, I wasn't sure it was a good idea. The catharsis comes with the writing process, not by seeing the cover of the books – the story published. But I have helped a few writing their own stories and have helped them with connections within the publishing world.”

 

Patrick pauses and smiles a bit sadly, “My books were not well received by the remains of my mother's family. Especially not by Nancy, who – just like an ostrich - prefer to bury her head in the ground and pretend problems do not exist. She even accused me of exaggerating. And I said to her, “In my eyes just one rape is as bad as twenty. And I haven't even told everything – not even about all the other children my father raped and Nicolas and your sister knew about. ” - Well, it wasn't nice of me. But I think I managed to penetrate her façade and I had the pleasure of seeing her real shaken before her façade clicked back on. And for the first time in her life, she said something genuine, “I am so sorry, Patrick. I didn't know it was that bad.”

 

Patrick pauses again and smiles and the photo, “If Mary hadn't been there. If she hadn't supported me – and at a point showed that support by giving me an ultimatum, I would not have been here today. The worst thing you can do to an addict, is to accept the addiction. I am sorry, but that is the way it is. The best thing you can do is giving the addict an ultimatum: 'your family or the drugs' – but unfortunately it only works if the addict has a family – and had the strength to break free. It worked with me, but I am not sure it can work with everyone, and only a very few has the strength to break free on their own. Like Nillie-Willie from New York. That he and I are still alive is a damned miracle. And yes – I know – his odds were so much lower than mine. Julie was somehow right when she said, that I could never hit rock bottom, because I was rich – which I by the way wasn't – not after my mother disinherited me – but Julia was right somehow. I was well-educated, and white, and knew important people and had attended the right school, Eton, but what Julie failed to see, was the real reason, why I could never hit rock bottom, even if I came close. I was lucky, because it is seldom that people, hitting rock bottom and crawling around in that dark pit of despair – it is very seldom that people like that have people, who would put down a ladder to them. And say, “When you are finished destroying yourself, here is a connection to the real world, to us, to a normal life. But you will have to climb up yourself.”.”

 

Patrick takes another breath and then he continues, “That was the reason why, I couldn't hit rock bottom. Mary – if she hadn't been there, I would have killed myself. I have no illusion about life being easy. But there is only so much a person can tolerate – and that is individual – some can manage more than others – and I am not wallowing in self-pity here, but I think I had my fare share of 'bad luck'. Nillie-Willie managed on his own – which is more impressive than my own achievement.”

 

Patrick shakes his head, “That I didn't catch something with that dirty horse-syringe at the size of a bicycle-pump or got some 'bad heroine' jammed into my veins during that awful stay in New York or that I wasn't able to open the window in my hotel-room and jump – or got stabbed in my stomach the streets of the shady quarters of New York or robbed, that is a god damned miracle as well. Or crashed in a car, while I was drunk driving – or managed to make the lid on the well break, when I was a child. All the times I have been close – of my own will or by just being unlucky or behaving utterly stupid. That is a miracle – just as it was my own strength that prevented me from killing myself, when I had the opportunity as well. A strength, I would have denied, that I had possessed. But I had that strength and combined with Mary's strength, it was enough.”

 

Patrick shakes his head, “Imagine if I had married Julia! We would have dragged eachother down into the pit of despair before you could say 'open another bottle, dear'. And imagine that I cheated on Mary with Julia! Julia wanted a companion in her own downfall. She only wanted the dark side of me. Mary wanted what she called 'the real Patrick' and she fought so hard for me – and did it by refusing to accept my addiction and by forcing me to fight my demons. It would have been so much easier to follow Julia's way.......and so much more devastating.”

 

Patrick pauses a bit and then he continues, “That terrible summer, where my mother disinherited me and Seamus got everything and my mother - again – had chosen anybody – everybody – over her own son. It wasn't so much that I lost the money – we could cope. But I just think it was the last straw that broke the camel's back. That she would rather give everything away, than give as much as a penny to her own son. I was so angry. And at the same time not allowed to show my anger. There she was – a wreck of a woman – and I hated her! I suppose if I had known the depth of her inadequacy as a mother and how I had just been a toy – a sex-toy – in my mother's and father's perverted sadomasochistic games, I might even have followed her last wish and killed her. And then she manipulated me into helping her again and she chickened out in the last minute. She wanted to die and she wanted to give me her last real gift. But didn't have the courage. And maybe she didn't notice that we didn't have enough money? And that Mary and I didn't live together any-more at that point? If she had – she might have given her plans away. She must have thought – in her own blindness – just like all really rich people are totally blind for the troubles of less wealthy people – she must have thought that we didn't need her money. Blind – and unable to look beyond her own rich world. Like Marie Antoinette’s, “Then why don't they eat cake?” And it was all so in vain. My hatred and my anger. Because it turned out that my mother, by giving away the house in St- Nazaire and a small amount of money, didn't give Seamus a gift, but gave him a ball-and-chain, a burden.”

 

Patrick stops talking and goes over to the wall over another desk and points at a aerial photo of the house, surrounded by the vast vine-fields, “There it is. The burden of the 'Foundation'. But maybe I should start another place. Maybe I should start where my books ended. The day of my mother's funeral and the day where Nicolas died.”

 

Patrick smiles, “If I was a Christian that believed in Heaven and Hell, I could have found consolation in the fact that Nicolas would be burning in the Purgatory or even in Hell for a long time. That ghoul of a man.. Or if I was a Buddhist or a Hindu I could find comfort in the thought about Nicolas having such a bad karma, that he would live a new life in utter misery – just like my father. Because both men were evil into the very core. And yet.....I can't help thinking about what must have happened to them, since they turned that monstrous. In my therapy I have often met people – and I knew it before as well – where vitriol has been dripping down through generations and the abused became an abuser. If nothing else – I can be proud of that I never harmed my boys like that. I harmed them by letting them see how I destroyed myself, but I showed them as well, that I won the fight. I have never met my grandparents, not on my mother's side and not on my father's. And only met my mother's sister, who ruined her life in bitterness about what-could-have-been in stead of enjoying what she had. And she had a lot. And maybe I should be grateful for that I never met them. I can't help thinking how they must have been, since they could make parents like mine. It is not an excuse – though – but an explanation. Because you do have a choice as an adult: you can take the easy road and become a monster yourself. Or choose the narrow road and become a somewhat decent person.”

 

Patrick sits down at his desk again and that is the moment Mary enters the room. Age have been merciful with her and only a few wrinkles gives her age away. Nothing like the swollen pastry-like complexion, that Eleanor showed rather early in her life. And that Patrick had hints of at a point too and that Julia was showing now. The curse of alcoholism. The tell-tales of a liver not functioning well enough, strained by medications and drugs and alcohol.

 

“Are you coming, dearest? Dinner is ready.”, says Mary

 

Patrick rises and walks towards her. Still with the same grace, that he never lost. At least not when he was sober, “Coming, darling.” - and he kisses her.

 

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

During diner – just the two of them – he keeps looking at her until she smiles and says, “Why are you looking at me like that?”

 

He reaches out and touches her hand, “I walked at bit down memory lane today and came to think off how incredibly lucky I am, that I had you.”

 

She smiles a bit sadly back, “You didn't have me all the time. I kicked you out and yelled at you, while you most of all needed a supporting hand.”

 

Patrick frowns a bit and ask, “When?”

 

“The years after your mother inherited you. When I had kicked you out of our home. While you still tried to help her and she asked too much of you. That whole affair about Switzerland. You worked your arse off to help her and she back-pedalled more than once.”

 

“But you were the one who told me she was scarred and afraid?”

 

“Oh...she was. But she was cruel too. And even more, when we were later told how much she had let you down. I felt pity for her....but Patrick, I hated her for her weakness too. Even more because I saw how her lack of empathy hurt you. And I had to take a step back while you were destroying yourself, or you would have destroyed me – us- as well. You always say, that it was _my_ strength that got you out of the woods, but it was your own strength, Patrick. You decided to go to the hospital several times and go through rehabs. That wasn't me, Love. It was you. You are so much more than your parents. So much stronger and so much more a better person. I am so proud of you.”

 

“And yet it was 'rehabs' as in plural. I had to do it several times to succeed.”

 

“But you never gave up. Kept on trying. That is strength as well, Patrick.”

 

They smile at each other.

 

“Do you know what was the hardest thing in those almost two years, from the awful summer in St Nazaire till she finally died?, asks Patrick.

 

“What was the hardest thing?”

 

“To know that she had inherited me as if I meant nothing to her. That the children in Africa or the people from the Foundation meant more to her than her own son. That she refused to see what had happened to me. It was rather cruel of her to hide her real intentions until after her death. I am not sure I would have descended so deep into despair, if I had known. It was as if her gift came too little too late.”

 

“I know.....But..”

 

“But what?”

 

“If we must walk down memory lane this evening. I think Patrick, that you had to land on Rock Bottom to be able to face your demons. If you had known about the money, wouldn't you have ended in the same trap as your mother? Having to much money and an emptiness in your life that you would try to fill with drugs and alcohol again.”

 

“No Mary....it was never about the money. It was the rejection. The inability to see her own cruelty.

Do you remember, in St. Nazaire? You were expecting Thomas. You told me she had showed you a letter from a woman, who claimed that my father had 'ruined her' as a child while they were visiting our villa in St. Nazaire...”

 

“I do”, says Mary.

 

“My mother denied that that could have been a possibility. And later you said that I should confront her and tell her what my father had done to me, because you said, “ _I think she had build a story of lies to protect herself._ ”

 

“I said that. I do remember that I thought that something good could come of you telling her the truth.”, Mary explains

 

“And I confronted her and never told you the outcome. Her words broke me, Mary.”

 

“What did she say? You never told me.”

 

“I had managed – with some difficulty – to say that my father had raped me – repeatedly. And do you know what her bloody answer to that was?!”

 

Mary shakes her head.

 

“My mother had the nerve to say 'me too'!”

 

“Oh God!”

 

Patrick has tears in his eyes, even so many years after, “And the worst part – do you know what that is? That is that everybody sees/saw her a almost a saint. And she couldn't even face the truth about how she had abandoned her own son. And compared her own choices, because she had a god-damned choice, to the helplessness of her child. She ought to have protected me.”

 

And Patrick continues, “.... and even more, on the day of her funeral, Nicolas' cruel words before he died, explained so much of her behaviour. When I realised that I had just been a ….a thing...A sex-toy. It almost broke me again. If I had known about her plans about the Villa and the funds, I wouldn't have been so hurt. My mother was a 'Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde', but I mostly saw the 'Mr Hyde'. What Nicolas told me, explained how my mother could leave me with that abomination of a man, my father. You saw her letter about the fund and the house. And she had written down, what she couldn't say. I was the price she had to pay....that I thought she had willingly paid. And Mary. I have never told you – not even when I asked, if I could come over that night. After the funeral.”

 

“Didn't tell me what?”

 

Patrick rises and reaches out his hand for her, “Not here - in the living room, please.”

 

_____________________

 

They sit down on the sofa and Patrick takes her hand, “I told you I had a revelation that evening, before I called you.”

 

“You did.”

 

“Yeah. But I never told you what happened before I had the revelation. I was....”

 

Patrick takes a deep breath, “I was standing at the window and wondered if it could kill me if I jumped. And I realised that it wasn't high enough from the ground, so I got out of my room. Took down the latter to the attics and crawled up there. I knew there was a window. I opened that window and crawled out and sat down on the roof. Looking out over that part of London. Thinking. And then I thought about the expression: _Taking your own life_. But you are not the one who is going to miss anything. You will be gone. So....you are taking it away from others. So it is not yours to take away. And I crawled back, went into my room lied down on the bed...and that was the moment I had my revelation. That I was not 'Patrick Melrose' – 8 years old', and my father had been dead for years and Nicolas was gone too. And they couldn't hurt me any-more. If I wouldn't allow them.....I had buried that little boy inside me. Numbed him with alcohol and drugs. Believing that if he would 'come out' I would shatter into pieces. But I peeled all the layers off and I did let him out...I might even have imagined him standing there and telling me that I was strong and not him any-more and then I called you.”

 

Mary hugs him and says, “I love you. I love you for your weakness and your strength. I love you, Patrick Melrose. I love you so much!”

 

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

Later that night Patrick was awake and thought about if he should write a 6th book in the Patrick Melrose-series. He had of course given himself and his parents other names. Moved the villa in St Nazaire to another town in Provence. Invented a few persons and avoided mentioning a few others. He thought about how he should tell the story. Starting the moment where he ended his 5th book? Well, time to sleep. And maybe he shouldn't write a 6th book after all. It was so many years ago now.

 

___________________________

 

Patrick remembered how he had hesitated on the day of his mother's funeral, as he was standing in front of his – no Mary's - front door, but then she had opened it and hugged him and said, “Good to see you.”

 

Robert and Thomas was being looked after by a babysitter and she told Patrick that they could talk without being disturbed. And that she expected him to want to talk more than to eat.

 

And they talked and talked. At a point the babysitter came down and said that the boys were tucked for the night and were ready for their parents to say good night.

 

So both Mary and Patrick went upstairs to the room the two boys shared. Finally Thomas had outgrown his phase with nocturnal nightmares and Mary couldn't help saying to Patrick as they had said good night to the boys, “There is room in the bed now...for you. Finally.”

 

And Patrick couldn't help giving her a half-smile and answer, “It took some time!”

 

And then they went downstairs to talk a bit more.

 

Patrick finally was honest about his suicidal thoughts, that were ever present, “They are alwys there. Sometimes just a whisper, but there. Standing on high places: “What if I jumped?” - at the chemist: “What should I take to die?” - and driving on the motorway: “What if I just drove into one of the pillars?”...”

 

“But Patrick....we 'sane' people hear that whisper too. It is normal. We just decide not to act upon them.”

 

Patrick frowned, “You have those impulses too?”

 

Mary smiled, “You will have to ask Johnny. But there is a special expression for that. Our Lizard brain is to blame, if I recall it right.”

 

Patrick smiled, “And here I thought I was still crazy. Even in my best periods.”

 

They just looked at each other and then Mary did reach for his hand, “Stay, Patrick.”

 

She made a gesture towards the ceiling and smiled, “My lover – as you called him, is no longer in the middle of my – our - bed. And I am so sorry...”

 

Patrick frowned again, with that nose-curl, that Mary found so endearing, “Sorry for what?”

 

“For forgetting to be lovers. For being to much of a mother-hen and forgetting to be 'wife' as well. I did push you away, Patrick. Even before you moved out.”

 

“Yeah...you did. But you protected our sons. That is important. It is good to be a mother-hen. For the children at least.”

 

“Yeah..I suppose it is. After what you told me today.....What a day.”

 

“Julie even teased me...Said that I wanted you to be my mother...But I don't want that, Mary. And besides, it would be 40 years too late and what I feel for you would be to creepy then. We have too much of that in my family.”

 

She laughed even if it was not funny, but it was sweet non the less.

 

“Oedipus complex? Romantic incestuous love? And I am sorry. It is not funny”, she said.

 

“And that would be creepy if you were my mother, wouldn't it? Oh...I just wish I had had any mother but my own. Any mother....even Nancy would have been better. Or your mother!”

 

“Heaven forbid.....well. She could be worse, I think. My mother, but she is so.....so snobbish that it is unbearable.”

 

Patrick began to chuckle.

 

“What?”

“There is an expression. It fits so nicely on your mother. And she could be worse. She tries to be a good grandmother, even if she has her ideas.”

 

“What expression?”

 

“It goes like this: 'She is so much a stuck up arse, that the only place for her to shit is in a gutter.'”

 

Mary couldn't help laughing, “It fits. She is always keeping up appearances. She would be so much nicer if she just tried to be herself.”

 

“And yet she managed to bring you up, Mary, to the wonderful and strong person you are. I love you romantically. That is what I feel for you – and sexual attraction. Despite me being an arse and being unfaithful to you. I do love you Mary, and I don't understand why you put up with me. And moving back in? What if I relapse again? I can't promise that I won't.”

 

She kissed him, tenderly and held his face between her hands, “And the moon might turn blue.....come back and we will fight your demons together. I'll be here for you now. And force you into rehab if it becomes necessary. But come back. I miss you. This you. The real Patrick. And about being unfaithful....I am not accepting it. I hate it. But I have read that men isn't always able to be monogamous and....”

 

“And that is bull-shit. You always have a choice. I can't promise that I would not have relapses, but I can promise you this: never more unfaithful. You deserve more than that.”

 

______________________________

 

And Patrick moved back in. He slept in their bed that night and woke up after the best sleep, he had had for years. Curled up, as the big spoon against Mary.

 

The next morning he fetched his belongings from his old room, but kept it. He wanted to have a place where he could fight his demons if necessary, where his sons couldn't see him.

 

And then – 3 months after his mother's funeral. After he had been totally sober for a bit more than 6 months -  he received a letter from a lawyer. An American one.

_______________________

 

Mary accompanied him to the lawyer's office in the centre of London. And in his office Patrick was given an envelope. With his mother's handwriting. Not the almost child-like version, she did write after her stroke, but the one she had had before.

 

He opened it and saw several pieces of paper in it.

 

“They are numbered. You are supposed to read number one first.”, said the lawyer helpfully.

 

“You could have fooled me” mumbled Patrick and Mary couldn't hide her smile and Patrick began to read.

 

“ _London, the 12th of April_ _, 2002_

_Dear Patrick_

 

_I am so sorry for having put you through this. But I have to be sure that you do not end up in the same trap as me: too much money and to little sense to use them wisely...”_

 

Patrick let the papers fall down into his lap, “I swear – if she is going to ramble about why it would be sooo good for me to have been disinherited – I am going to....”

 

The lawyer lifted his hand, “I know what those letters say. Please Mr. Melrose. Keep on reading. This is not, what you might fear. I promise.”

 

Patrick took a deep breath and Mary touched his hand. He was trembling. He resumed reading:

 

“ _.....I know that I have hurt you. And abandoned you. And chosen my life and freedom over you. Somehow I believe that you, despite you being just a child then, and later in your life a grown man, I believe that you were so much stronger than me. I entered into a relationship with your father, believing that submitting to a strong person could give my life purpose. But I was wrong. Your father wasn't strong. Because a strong person is only cruel for a purpose. Your father was a weak man and used cruelness to become stronger, but failed. That is why he choose children as his victims. And I am sorry, Patrick, because even if I never discovered anything, you changed and I had a suspicion. I was an utter failure as a mother. I can admit that now. I couldn't then. At a point I had to get away – or I would have killed myself with a mixture of pills and alcohol. And I left you. I know I should have taken you with me, before I finally managed to get that divorce, but I was to weak and couldn't go back after you. Not until later. And then it was too late. I know. I am writing this because I have had a warning. A 'micro-stroke' as they call it. Not any damage, as it passed, but it is a warning that another might be on its way and I better get prepared for that. I might not survive the next big one. That is why I am writing this letter. To tell you that I am so sorry for being such a failure. But then again. You seem to be coping well and to be so strong and I am so proud of you. The problem is that I can't say this to you. If I try I might shatter into pieces. That is why I am writing this. And you are supposed to get it after I die._

 

_I love you. Even if I have had a shitty way of showing it to you._

 

_Eleanor Melrose”_

 

“Oh God” was Mary's reaction and she was holding Patrick, who was openly sobbing.

 

“Maybe...maybe you should read the next letter, Mrs. Melrose”, suggested the lawyer.

 

And Mary took the rest of the papers and began to read. Patrick just nodded and tried to pull himself together.

 

 

_“London, the 20_ _th_ _of April 2002_

 

“ _Dearest Patrick_

_I had another 'micro-stroke' yesterday. Nothing bad. Just a constant headache and a bit difficulty talking, but not writing. So little time to do what must be done. The villa in St. Nazaire must go.”_

 

Mary paused and looked at Patrick and gave his hand a squeeze and he gave her a tiny nod.

 

She continued reading, _“There are new laws on their way and the Villa is going to be a heavy burden. It has just enough land to be forced to make wine. I have always been able to give the grapes away, but the new laws will not allow for that possibility any-more. It will be expensive to be forced to make wine, but that is going to be the law. The civil engineer was just by and told me about the upcoming very urgent reparations, not to mention the forced closure of the well and the septic tank. Within 5 years the Villa will be forced to be joining the public water-supply and the public sewers. If it had only been 1 kilometre further away from the city and we could have avoided that. I am going to give that Villa away to someone else, so it doesn't become a_ _burden for you, Patrick. You have your good job and Mary too. You will cope. And I am afraid that the Villa hides so many bad memories for you. Maybe I will give it to Seamus. He is such a burden and such a gold-digger. But he is nice company and it is nice to listen to him and his friends. Maybe if I let him know – discreetly and only with hints – that I might consider leaving the Villa to the Foundation, he might even be good company, if I should get worse. I will just have to wait, until I have gathered courage enough to die, to make the final transfer just before that. You might be hurt Patrick. But as soon as I am dead, you will know how much a burden the Villa is going to be. Oh my...Seamus is so much in for a surprise. Right now he is just a parasite, living of my money, inviting guests to live here at my expense. Oh...I don't mind. I have money enough. But I better have the lawyers in France construct the deed, so Seamus can't sell off any land or sell anything at all. And if he leaves the Foundation, the Villa will still be his burden. He can't even sell my paintings in the Villa. If he tries, he is going to be so disappointed. They are all fake. The real ones are here in London and are waiting for you, Patrick. But there will be conditions. I have made trusts for you and your children. Over the years I have put money into those trusts. So they are your heritage together with the real paintings. Keep them if you can, or sell them. They are yours now. But you will have to show that you can stay sober. 6 months sober and you will get this letter from the lawyer. This is my final way of helping you._

 

_Your mother_

 

_Eleanor Melrose”_

 

Patrick lifted his head and looked at the lawyer, “I don't understand....I thought she had given everything away....to the Foundation and Seamus?”

 

The lawyer smiled, “She might have been able to do that. According to French laws and some American laws. But not according to English law. She could give away half of her fortune or even ¾ of it all. And she did that. Half of it. But there is a term.....”

 

“Oh God, I didn't give that a single thought in my anger and disappointment.” said Patrick and turned towards Mary, as he continued, “I don't know, why I didn't think of that. And I am a barrister. I should have known. 'Forced heir-ship'...of course. She could, according to English law, even if some of her money were in France, only give ¾ of her fortune away. And since she had hidden and bound money in the trusts, they couldn't be touched. The only thing that failed her in her plans, was that it took longer for her to die, than she expected. Two tears imprisoned in an almost non-functioning body and almost not able to communicate. She couldn't tell me, could she?”

 

Mary shook her head, “She could have, Patrick. Remember? Her 'will of consent'. It was slowly and painstakingly written down, word for word. She could have told you then.”

 

Patrick frowned and the almost euphoric mood that he had been in since he had realised that his mother after all had not hated him and had seen him and had decided to help him, just faded away.

 

“She could...Oh God she could have. Why didn't she?”

 

“I might be able to shine some light on that subject.”, said the lawyer and continued, “Her last stroke. Or rather the second-last that paralysed her eye, put her in a wheelchair and gave her almost total aphasia, did damage her memory too. She could remember her idea about giving the Villa to Seamus and almost all of her money. Those that weren't 'frozen' in the trusts. But the rest? About the trusts and the paintings? It was totally gone. My company contacted her – even visited her to talk about some minor details. Mostly about the 6 months delay, that we strongly disagreed on, but she couldn't recognize us or remember anything about her visit in London. In her mind, the stroke that put her in the wheelchair, was her first. As you said, Mr. Melrose. “Two tears imprisoned in an almost non-functioning body and not able to communicate”...and with a malfunctioning memory. No, she couldn't tell you anything.”

 

Patrick could just look at the lawyer and didn't say a word. So it was Mary who asked, “Why did you respect her 6 months delay, if you were so strongly against it?”

 

“I had to respect that. She had been in her full senses when she wrote that down, and it wasn't against any laws. If you had been in severe need, we might have told you, at least something, but as it......”

 

Mary rose. She was angry. She almost yelled, “Have you any idea how much Patrick was hurt, when he found out his mother had disinherited him!? That she had chosen a stranger over him. That she for the umpteenth time had abandoned her son!? Have you, you ignorant idiot, any idea about how close it was to break my husband?! No...it broke him. For God's sake, man. Patrick was abused by his father, sexually abused. Patrick was left with him as a child as she ran away and she kept on hurting him, because that idiotic alcoholic petty excuse of a woman, that had been so unfit to be his mother, had decided to play a last little game of hide and seek and 'I can use my money on anything but my son'-game. How could you keep this as a secret?!”

 

The lawyer paled and looked at Patrick, “I am so sorry , sir. I didn't know it was that bad. I was not the person, who had worked with your mother. I was just given this envelope and told to contact you 6 months after your mother's death. And of course I had read the letters as instructed. But believe me. I only saw them yesterday. I am so sorry...”

 

Mary slumped down on the chair, “I...I apologize for my behaviour. It is just....”

 

The lawyer smiled at both Patrick and Mary, “I am glad that I could at least tell you the truth now. You will have access to the trusts immediately. I just need some signatures.”

 

_____________________________

 

On their way home, Patrick kept on smiling and they decided to go to a restaurant after having fetched the boys.

 

At the table, where the grown-ups drank non-alcoholic wine. No reason to tempt Patrick, they told the boys that they had inherited some money after all and that they were going to make plans for the house. Maybe sell it.

 

“No”, said Robert, “Please don't. I like sharing room with Thomas. And I like our neighbours and my school. And I have my friends nearby. And I have read that it is unwise to move children around when they are as young as me and Thomas and....”

 

“Stop...we get it. Then we will just have to do something about our flat then.”, said Mary.

 

“You could always buy the rest of the house. In ancient times it was just one house for one family. It could be that again.”, suggested Robert.

 

And that was how it turned out to be.

 

And they were relatively happy. Patrick had a few 'danger periods', as they called them. But they managed and during the years the danger-periods became fewer and fewer. Patrick wrote his books and to his utter surprise, his therapist, who was the only one, who was supposed to read them, apart from Mary of course, suggested that he should publish them. And so he did, after having altered the names and locations.

________________________

 

Finally Patrick Melrose thought that life was worth living and that he had killed, not himself, but all his ghosts and demons from his past. Something he had never thought to be a possibility as he had been an eight-year-old and lost boy in an old house in France.

 

He had been strong enough not to pass the abuse on to the next generation. A deed he was, rightfully, rather proud of.

 

And now we will leave him. In his house, sitting in a chair, with his granddaughter and grandson sitting beside him in the big armchair, while he was reading the Hobbit and changing his voice, when he played the dragon Smaug, “ Come out. Don't be shy. Step into the light....”

 

Patrick stopped for a moment. It was what he had done. Stepped out into the light. Slain his dragons and decided to live. He hugged the two children and continued reading. 

 

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
